


Comics

by twinkjack



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Eventual Smut, Frikey, M/M, Past Child Abuse, frank is a fucking nerd and reads too many comic books, i guess, i have no idea what to tag pls send help, mikey likes comic books but like. also hockey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkjack/pseuds/twinkjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only reason Mikey meets Frank in the first place is cause Gerard pretty much forced him outside for once, and then it started pouring buckets, so of course the nearest place was that stupid comic book shop. And of course that's where Frank was working that day, even though it was supposed to be his day off. Mikey didn't even want to talk to him, Mikey didn't even want to walk out of his own house in the first place. But then again, Frank was wearing a Pokemon shirt, and what kind of twenty-year-old does that? One worth talking to, that's who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's gotten used to the quiet these days, how eerily silent the house is at 7:08 a.m. every weekday morning, only the sound of Gerard's car peeling out of the driveway lingering in the air.

Mikey didn't know what to do with his free time at first. He wasn't used to all the newfound freedom, and at first he asked Gerard if he should get a job too. It would help pay bills, wouldn't it?

"I don't want you troubling yourself with that," Gerard had said sternly, shaking his head. "No. No job." he'd paused then, as if holding his breath, then added: "Not yet."

He always puts Mikey first, especially on those days where his paycheck has run out and the only thing in their fridge is a bag of baby carrots. They'll sit on the floor and Gerard will divide up the carrots evenly, and then he'll slip extra ones into Mikey's pile. Just like they did back when they were kids, when Dad was drunk and he'd blown all their money on booze, and Mom was out on the streets, turning tricks, leaning against the doors of stopped cars with her wild curls and overdone makeup. And all the money she made went straight to Dad's booze, or her own drugs, or makeup, and the only time they ever got food was when Gerard dared steal a couple bucks from her purse (which had cost $200 and left them without electricity for a week).

But now they're more experienced. Now they know how to save money, most of the time. Now coming home means a place to relax, (and in Mikey's agoraphobic situation, doubly so) not a place where fear reigns. They actually have _free time_ now. So Mikey sits here, in this empty house, and at first he listens to the way Gerard slams out of the house (always just on the _verge_ of being late, banging all the cupboards closed in the kitchen, slopping coffee on the floor, yelling "see you tonight, Mikes," as he runs out the door, tie nearly getting caught). Then he'll make himself some breakfast, the coffee pot still hot from Gerard's cup earlier, and he'll sit there and read the local news on his phone, cause that's what adults do.

And Mikey really, _really_ wants to be an adult.

Everyone would finally take him seriously. He wouldn't be seen as Gerard's tagalong kid brother, which was his unofficial name for a good ten or so years of his life. Now that they've moved out though, now that Gerard has a job and pays the bills and (sometimes) remembers to call home, maybe things can change. Maybe Mikey will finally be able to go outside, go on dates, maybe meet some cute girl and know what it's like to love someone. Cause he's never gone anywhere with a girl, and he's only ever really liked one, and that was back in 8th grade. Alicia, who wore too much makeup and shopped at Hot Topic and tried to kiss him under the bleachers when she found out he liked her. But she was wearing black lipstick that day and he didn't want to get it on him, so he refused. What a waste.

Sometimes Mikey wonders why Gerard took him along when he fled home. It had never really been a safe place for them- but not so dangerous as to be life-threatening, not even close, and Mikey supposes he could've probably lasted a couple more years there. But- but not without Gerard, no. So maybe moving to a shitty apartment in bumfuck, nowhere, is a blessing in disguise.

He still laughs at the fact that Gerard has an office job, though. The kid had to cut his unruly black tangles so that he looked presentable, toss out his goth makeup (Mikey picked it out from the trash can and now keeps it in his room) and rid his closet of so much goddamn _black_. He wears ties now! And cologne! And remembers to shower!

It's such a leap forward from the basement-dwelling goth kid that was Gerard only a few years back. But a few punches to the face from close relatives (namely, certain fathers) do wonders in changing things. Especially if those punches come coupled with spitting insults and mocking words. At no extra charge, of course, only your confidence. And mental stability. But of course, Mikey and Gerard are completely responsible adults capable of living without their parents.

He recently spotted, on a rare drive into town, a comic book shop. And Gerard may have moved out of the basement, but he hasn't moved out of his comic book phase, and Mikey knew as soon as he saw the (shabby, rather hidden) store that he _needed_ to stop there. Now he just needs to figure out how he can borrow Gerard's car without seeming suspicious. Gerard means well, but he always worries about Mikey, always wants to know where he's going.

After a couple more minutes, Mikey discovers that the comic book shop is close enough to bike to. Huh. He's about to go for that rusty old bike that still leans on the wall near the front door cause they had nowhere else to put it, the one they somehow salvaged from their parents' house, but then he stops.

Yeah, there's no fucking way he's leaving the house today. Just the thought of it, of having other people _see_ him as he pedals down the street, and then having to walk through the store with someone looking- fuck- leaves his chest constricted. Mikey shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and heads up to his room. He'll just play bass for a couple hours, try and build up some more confidence, and when Gerard gets home, he'll mention that his anxiety medicine has stopped working. (But he won't tell Gerard to take him back to the therapist, because therapists cost money, money that they don't have-)

Just like a real adult.

Right?

-

When Gerard comes home, right around 7 (so that's, what, twelve hours? Mikey notes), he drops all his stuff and heads straight to the couch. Mikey gets him a glass of water and sits beside down beside him, mentally marking the way his brother sinks into his seat tiredly. They flip the TV on and watch for a couple minutes, just absentmindedly, before either of them feel like talking.

Back before their father sunk into alcoholism, before he got fired from his job, he'd come home, crack open a beer, and plant himself in front of the TV, watching sports until late into the night. Mikey and Gerard, only children at that point, would play-wrestle around him and take pride in carrying him more beers when he ran out. It was the biggest fucking honor to be the one who managed to pull open the heavy door of the fridge and delve their tiny hands into the shelves, searching for glass bottles (that were honestly _terribly_ unsafe for little kids to carry). As they grew older, they began to detest those bottles, the ones that snatched their father away from them. No longer would he come home from work and crack one open, because he _didn't_ work. He'd get home from wherever he'd went and down one, then another one, and another, up until he'd moved on to heavier drinks and drank himself shitfaced every night. At that point, Mikey and Gerard didn't see it as an honor to bring him the alcohol.

"How was work?" Mikey asks, smiling cause that's what adults do. They ask each other those questions even though they couldn't much care for the answer. Small talk. That's an adult thing.

"Eh," Gerard shrugs, taking a long drink of his water, wiping condensation off his upper lip. His black hair (which he keeps trying to grow out, despite Mikey's claims that he'll look ridiculous _and_ get fired from his job) falls over his forehead as he moves and he brushes it away tiredly. "There's only so long that I can stare at a computer screen, yanno? All I'm seeing are fuckin' ones and zeros, man." He shakes his head and sets the now-empty glass down on the coffee table, where it'll surely leave a wet ring. 

"Yeah, I getcha," Mikey nods, even though he doesn't, cause he's never worked an office job in his life, or really even sat at a computer for too long. His family never owned one, and they just began implementing them into schools when he was in high school himself, so he never really got to use one properly. And buying one now is just out of the question. They don't have the money for those sorts of things. Money goes towards food, bills, and anxiety medication. And sometimes comic books, apparently. "Guess what? That comic book place, the one we saw last time," he starts, and Gerard looks at him.

'Last time' was two weeks ago, a miserably cold Saturday where Mikey was dragged to a museum in the city. Of course, as soon as they'd actually gotten there, Mikey had staggered off to throw up in the bathroom, and struggled to keep his hysteria in check for a good ten minutes; but after time (and three anti-anxiety pills) later, he'd calmed down and they enjoyed a nice visit to the museum.

"Right," Gerard says, almost guiltily, still angry at himself for forcing Mikey to go somewhere he clearly didn't want to. "What about it?"

"It's close enough to bike to," Mikey replies, and Gerard's gaze immediately swings to the front door, where that damn old bike _still_ sits, probably melted into the wall and floor by now. 

A smile slowly creeps over Gerard's face. "I have an idea," he sings.

"No."

He shouldn't have mentioned it at all. Stupid. Now Gerard's gonna try his damndest to get Mikey out of the house, on that damn bike, and into that fucking comic book shop. And Mikey really doubts that shop has a bathroom he can throw up in.

"Come on," Gerard says, his smile fading. "Mikes, going out is good for you. And I'll give you money for comics." 

The TV is still playing in the background. A commercial that drags on and on and on. Mikey licks his lips uncomfortably, mouth drying up at the very thought of going outside. "I'll think about it. But no money. Y-you need that for other, more important things."

Gerard hesitates, then nods. "Fine."

If Mikey finds even a single bill on the kitchen table tomorrow, even one single dollar, (which he knows he will, because Gerard can't resist spoiling him whenever he can) he'll... well, there's not much he can do. But he won't take it, that's for sure.

"Alright," Mikey says, getting up, "What's for dinner?"

Gerard trails behind him into the kitchen. "I stopped by the store," he explains awkwardly, "Bought a couple things... we could make pasta, I guess." He's always so worried when it comes to food. Always nervous that Mikey won't be satisfied with it, will go to bed early.

Mikey turns to him and smiles widely. "Pasta would be great," he says empathetically. "I fuckin' love pasta."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mikey's managed to convince himself, for the most part, that there is absolutely no way, 0% chance, of him going to the comic book shop tomorrow.

And yet, when the clock hits 7 a.m. and Gerard's out the door, he finds himself standing there, staring at the bike, tracing his fingers over its rusted surface. He spent half his childhood on this bike. First, Gerard teaching him how to ride it. The bruises and cuts that soon followed, covering his legs and knees and the palms of his hands; those came with many tears and sniffles, but also with comforting words from Gerard. (None from his parents, of course.) And then he finally learned to ride it, and by the time he was fourteen, his days often consisted of hopping on the bike and riding all over town, exploring, going as far as he could just so he could avoid going home.

But by the time Mikey turned sixteen, and his father was in a deep, deep spiral of alcoholism and depression, he'd stopped going for bike rides. As much as he'd liked it, going outside began to terrify him. It always had, at least on a subconscious level, but as he grew older the fear only made itself more prominent. This had made his father even more mocking of him, and (you guessed it) only made things worse.

"Sentimental," Mikey says aloud, and sets his hand on the handlebar, squeezing the brake. He doesn't have to do much to fix it, just wipe it down and pump the wheels- they're a bit deflated. And maybe, just maybe, then he'll go to the comic book shop. Cause Gerard, true to his (unspoken) word, had left twenty dollars on the kitchen table. Fucker.

It's not like they _have_ twenty dollars to just throw away, too. It's Gerard, thinking they have disposable money, wanting Mikey to be happy- but Mikey's happy when they're not spending money on useless things! Hell, he feels guilty every time Gerard goes to refill his anti-anxiety meds.

But if spending those twenty dollars will make Gerard happy, then... looks like Mikey's got himself some new comic books.

He walks into the kitchen and wets a paper towel. It's funny how they've lived in this apartment for over a year and he's just now cleaning that goddamn bike; just now finding out about the comic book shop; just now working up the courage to leave the house. He really only wants some new comics. That's it. Mikey's grown awfully bored.

So he spends a good two hours polishing up that damn bike, pondering over what comic book to get (get the new Avengers? or stick with the classics, go for some rare Superman ones, cause every small comic book shop _always_ has a rare Superman one? decisions, decisions), going over every spot until it nearly gleams. It still looks like it's sort of falling apart, but at least it's stopped looking like a goddamn refugee, rescued from a fire. It's a bike good enough to ride. And for some stupid reason, he finds a pump in Gerard's closet, and it fixes up the wheels real nice.

Mikey steps back to regard his handiwork. Well, it'll do. He walks over to a kitchen cabinet, pulls it open, and regards the four orange pill bottles inside. One of them is half-empty; the others, nearly untouched. He takes the half-empty one and shakes some into his palm, then downs them with a glass of water. It's only until he's holding the water in his hand that he realizes he's shaking.

"Chill," he mumbles to himself, but his hands won't stop shaking and his chest is tight. It's only one fucking bike ride. And it's not like this is the first time he's gone outside this month (except it is; the museum visit was two weeks ago, the last week of March, and it's April now, and he hasn't stepped one foot outside). What's so fucking bad about going outside? Why is he- and he's quoting his father now- so goddamn weak? Such a fucking pussy? Scared of _going outside_ , really Mikey? Really? Pathetic.

The words even _sound_ like his father's voice, echoing in his head, slurred from alcohol, and Mikey can still feel it, his father's breath hot and disgusting, rotten vodka, as he leaned in close to scream in Mikey's face. Too often. At least living with his parents meant he actually went outside, which is more than he's done in the past week.

Mikey thumps one hand across his chest to clear it, and coughs for a good minute. He'll do it. He'll go for a fucking bike ride, he'll visit the comic book shop, he'll go outside for the first time this month.

Just... not today.

-

"Did you go?"

Mikey doesn't quite want to meet Gerard's eyes, cause he knows there will be disappointment in them. "No," he mumbles, and in his peripheral vision he sees Gerard's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, Gee."

"It's alright," Gerard reassures him. "I just- I was so convinced you would-" He sighs.

Fuck. Good job, Mikey, you've gone and disappointed him. "Sorry," he repeats, looking down. He has Batman socks on, and there's a hole on the left big toe. He wiggles his toes and watches the sock tear even more.

"It's fine," Gerard says again absentmindedly. He's tugged a lock of hair down in front of his face and he curls it around his finger now, twisting it back onto his head. It lays there, one lone curl. "But sometime this week-"

Mikey nods. It's doubtful he will, really, but maybe the guilt will get to him and he'll go. That would be nice, he supposes, if it pleases Gerard. And the comic books- he sure does need some...

"I'm gonna nag you all day tomorrow," Gerard offers. Today's Friday. Right. How did Mikey miss that? Then again, he barely keeps track of the days anymore. There's no point; it's not like he has any important days to remember. "And I know how much you hate that." True. Mikey has a deep seated hatred for nagging. He's been known to quit whatever he's doing if someone nags him about it- for example, if he washes the dishes and someone comes in, absentmindedly reminding him to do that, he'll turn the water off and stomp away from the sink. He's done it before, and Gerard knows it's a good way to piss him off easily. Which gives Gerard all-the-more reason to do it. Cause that's what normal brothers do, they piss each other off, and Mikey and Gerard are absolutely, 100% normal brothers.

Mikey rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the TV. "Is there a hockey game today?" he asks, and Gerard grins.

"I think so." He's about to say something else, probably joke about what a strange combination of interests it is- comic books and hockey, he's heard it a billion times- but holds his tongue. Thank fucking God. There's only so many times he can hear the same jokes over and over. He's had a couple comic book nerds nearly have an aneurysm when he walked into a comic book shop, his small frame swallowed up by an oversized hockey jersey. _A person who enjoys sports and classically nerdy things? Impossible! Fake!_

"Great." Mikey flips through the channels until he finds the one broadcasting the game, and grins to himself. "Penguins. Nice."

Gerard looks up. "Penguins? The birds?" His brow crinkles. "Birds can't play hockey, right? Aren't there rules against that? Like, um, only humans can play-" He regards Mikey curiously. "Or am I missing something here?" 

Wait, is he serious? Like, does he actually think that, yes, there's a possibility that hockey rules allow for penguins to go on the ice? If so- Mikey's collapsing over himself in laughter, the whole doubled-over-with-tears-in-his-eyes routine, brushing the hair away from his face as he wheezes. Seriously, he's wheezing, and he's not even asthmatic. 

"I guess that's a no," Gerard mumbles to himself. "Could penguins even hold hockey sticks? --Would they need protection, like, uh, like shoulder pads, helmets? Can we get penguin helmets? Do they make those?" He stares down at his lap, curling his fingers together as the hockey game carries on in the background. "That would make for an interesting career choice. Penguin helmet designer..."

There's never a dull moment when Gerard's your brother. That's all Mikey has to say on the matter. He grins to himself and focuses on the game. Penguins are losing, too. Damn. He doesn't pay a lot of attention to the current team rankings, or who's even going to make it to the Stanley Cup, but he does quite favor the Penguins a fair bit. Biased, really. Pittsburgh is only a state over from New Jersey.

"Well, I'll just leave you to this," Gerard says half-heartedly, getting up and fetching his glass from the coffee table. "Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to watch the entire game, will you?" Gerard smiles guiltily. "I'm worried about the electricity bill."

He shuts the TV off immediately.  If it raises the bill, then he won't make it any worse. They don't have that much money anyway, he can't spend it on watching hockey games, even if he was dying to see the outcome. Gerard starts to protest, claiming that's not what he meant, Mikey can surely watch half an hour more- "I'm good," Mikey assures him, "It wasn't even that interesting of a game anyway. Seriously, Gerard, I _mean_ it, god. I'm not lying to you to make you feel better-" He breaks off and shakes his head, dismissing Gerard's further complaints. "Is it okay if I go to bed now? I've got a headache."

Gerard glances at his wrist. He's got a watch, an actual fucking wristwatch, that he somehow had managed to grab when they were moving out. It's not the most sophisticated accessory out there, but Gerard makes it work. "It's only eight. And what about dinner?"

Dinner? Who could have dinner when that means food, and food means money, money that they _don't fucking have_? "Not hungry," he declares, and Gerard looks slightly pale. "I had a couple snacks today," he lies, just to get that awful worried look off of Gerard's face. Sure he hasn't eaten, but he can't afford to go around wasting food! They've gone to bed without dinner loads of times. There was even a saying at one point- 'Sleep is the best food.' And that was their childhood. Sleep was on the dinner menu nearly every other night, sometimes more often. They'd grown used to it. So why stop now? If it saves money, shouldn't they eat _less_? "Gerard, I promise everything's okay, I just have this massive headache and I'm really just exhausted right now. And yes, that's why I don't want food, but I'll eat something in the morning. Okay?" Gerard nods, mumbles an 'okay'. "Goodnight."

"Night."

He _knows_  Gerard worries about him, but that's normal. Gerard worries about everyone, all the time, and doubly so about Mikey because he's older and feels like he has to 'protect' him. Which is bullshit, cause Mikey can protect himself perfectly well. 

When Mikey was younger, he nearly got arrested for shoplifting. The cop let him go because he started bawling, and no one could punish a crying eleven year old that severely, except his parents. When he'd gotten home (and dealt with the considerable amount of hits from his parents) Gerard had walked into his room and asked why he did it. 'It's against the law,' he'd said, 'You know that. So why?'

Mikey had simply regarded him with big eyes. 'Cause,' he answered, 'Cause we needed food but we had no money. So I tried to take it.'

'No,' Gerard told him. 'We don't do that. We don't break the law, even if we absolutely need to.'

'What if we're starving?' Mikey questioned angrily.

That had given Gerard pause. 'We'll beg,' he replied slowly. 'On the streets. With the signs 'nd everything. We're cute kids, people should give us money.'

Looking back, they were rather resourceful kids, and they did end up begging once or twice, but only in times of desperate measure.

Mikey's not sure why he was reminded of that just now. Maybe the feeling of sitting in his room, Gerard having reprimanded him, his belly aching from the lack of food, feeling awfully, terribly guilty. It's too common of a feeling. 

He always feels guilty these days, but at least he's got a reason why.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Today's the day. Listen up, world (well, actually don't, Mikey hates the spotlight), Michael James Way is _stepping out of his house_  and _riding his bike_!

After downing approximately one and a half pots of coffee, he's buzzing and raring to go. Well, he'd like to think that he is, but in reality he's sitting on his couch, _literally_ buzzing (humming and bouncing his legs), pretty much shaking. Gerard is sitting on the dingy carpet, legs crossed in front of him, grinning expectantly. He's been pestering Mikey for the last hour, even going as far to leave sticky notes fucking _everywhere_. Mikey is literally going to scream. He's forgotten that Gerard is really, _really_ fucking good at pestering people.

"Hey, I have something really important to tell you," Gerard says, his face completely serious, brushing his hair behind his ear. "I'm not joking. Don't- fuck. Stop smiling. This is serious. Come here."

Maybe he actually has something meaningful to say, so Mikey slides off the couch and sits down beside him, leaning in so Gerard can whisper in his ear. "Promise this is serious?"

"Yeah," Gerard nods, looking fairly worried. "I didn't want to tell you this, but..." he takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. "Mikey-" His voice cracks. It fucking _cracks_. Mikey's deeply worried now, convinced he's going to hear the biggest secret of his life. "You gotta go to the comic book store."

"Fuck you!" Mikey backpedals away from him, laughing. "Seriously? Fuck off. _Fuck_ -" He covers his mouth and leans forward, shoulders shaking. "I hate you. Don't talk to me." When he looks up again, grinning, Gerard rolls his eyes playfully and gets to his feet.

"I'm serious, though," Gerard says. "C'mon. I'll go with you, if you want."

Mikey sighs. "No thanks. Whatever. I'll- yeah. I'll go." He pushes himself to his feet and starts towards the door. "Mind getting my jacket?"

"The black one?" Gerard picks one up and dangles it questioningly.

"Sure. Toss it." He catches it easily and shrugs it on, zipping it. "Where's the twenty you left yesterday?"

"Also right here," Gerard produces it from his pocket and hands it over, grinning. "Oh, I'm so _excited_ , Mikey's finally gonna go outside! You're a big boy now, aye?"

"Aw," Mikey groans, "Shut the hell up." He slides his shoes on and laces them up. "See you in a couple hours, I guess."

Gerard smiles brightly. "See ya!"

As the younger brother reaches for the door handle, his hand slips, and he realizes just how sweaty and nervous he is. "Yeah," Mikey mumbles, much quieter this time, "see ya." He exhales and pulls the door open, propping it as he starts to cart the bike out, past the door's threshold. It catches and he stumbles, nearly falling, but rights himself at the last moment. He makes sure his phone and wallet are secure in the zip-up pocket of his jacket, then takes one more moment.

This is it. Really. Mikey straightens his back, takes a deep breath, and turns around to pull the door closed. He's going.

Of course, now he has to wait for the elevator, which takes agonizingly long, giving him enough time to mull over his decision and nearly send him running back home. But he steels his nerves and grits his teeth. Mikey's taken the anxiety meds. He'll be absolutely fine.

Once, when he was younger, Mikey tried running away from home. This was after the first black eye he'd gotten, and he thought that if he succeeded at running away, the bruise would only add to his appeal; it landed him in a children's home for a day. He still remembers those twenty-four hours clearly, and of course his father's reaction. You would've thought Mikey had been in prison, not in a home, from the way he reacted. That black eye was soon joined by another one, along with a split lip and a killer concussion. Maybe that was the reason he failed his math test that week. All in all, one of the worst weeks in his life, definitely. He doesn't regret trying to run away, though. 

The elevator dings and he steps out onto the first floor, pulling the bike with him. There's no one in the building lobby, thank god. He'd probably do something stupid accidentally if there was.

It's kind of chilly outside, and Mikey's glad he's got his jacket. He fits earbuds into his ears and glances down at his phone while straddling the bike, taking a couple of deep breaths. Let's see, what music would fit this occasion? ...Muse? Green Day? Whatever. He puts it on Shuffle and jams the phone back into his pocket, grabbing the handlebars and straightening his back again.

Which way to the comic store? Mikey quickly goes over the directions in his head. Turn left right now, pedal past that group of teenagers that are kind of scaring the living shit out of him (deep breaths, c'mon now), stop at the intersection, bike across the street, turn onto this neighborhood, make some quick turns, and...

The store looks a lot shabbier up close. He's fairly surprised. There's also a bike rack out front, which he's grateful for, and immediately locks his bike onto it. As he does so, Mikey notices his hands are shaking, so into the pockets of his skinny jeans they go. Stop shaking, idiot. Come on. You're grown up.

A bell jingles when he pushes the door open, and the guy at the register glances up. He's sitting cross-legged on a back counter, flipping through a comic book (very fitting). Mikey doesn't want to stare, but from the brief glimpse he got, he notices the boy has black hair falling over his eye, but the sides of it seem to be blond. That's weird.

 _And_ , the most important thing about him is he's wearing a fucking Pokemon shirt. Mikey didn't even know that they made Pokemon shirts in adult sizes. Well- he does kind of look small enough to wear kid's sizes, so who knows?

"Looking for anything?" the boy calls. That's not right. He's not a boy, he's about Mikey's age, but then again, Mikey's pretty young, so-

"N-no," he says back, cursing his stupid stammer. "Wait, ac-actually." He licks his lips.

"Yeah?" the boy hops off the counter, casting his comic to the side, and walks over to Mikey. He's got a nice, easy-going kind of face, magnified by a lazy smile. There are two piercings on his face, mouth and nose, and they suit him really fucking well. "We don't have much-" He looks around the shabby store and grins guiltily- "But we've got a couple rares."

Mikey bites his lip. "Which ones?"

The boy has a nice smile. "Early editions of a couple superheros. Which ones you like?" He tucks his hair behind his ear. "I'm Frank, by the way."

Frank? Huh. That always seemed like a stepfather sort of name to Mikey, but somehow it suits the kid. "I'm Mikey," he says, and Frank nods eagerly. "And, uh, I dunno, just-" His heart is racing so fast he's about to pass out. "Hey, uh, can I have some- some water?"

"Yeah. Why? You okay?" Frank's smile morphs into a concerned look. "You're kinda pale." He goes to the counter and pulls out an unopened bottle of water, carrying it back to Mikey. "Seriously, you good?"

Flushing with embarrassment, Mikey opens the bottle and takes a long, deep drink, willing his body to fucking _chill_. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Sorry, I get like this sometimes." His face is warm and definitely bright red. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"It's alright! Anyway, back to the comics," Frank is smiling again. _God_ , he's got a nice smile.

"Right," mumbles Mikey, finishing his water. He crumples the bottle and holds it awkwardly, unsure where to throw it out. At least his chest has stopped heaving. He's got his breathing mostly under control by now, and after looking around, spots a trash can to toss the bottle. Now he's okay. 

Frank darts behind the counter and spreads out a bunch of comics. "These are my favorites," he confesses, "I've read them all like ten times." His eyes sparkle when he talks, and his enthusiasm is infectious. "Here, take a look." As Mikey flips one open, Frank keeps talking, nearly bouncing up and down like an excited puppy. He did kind of look like one, too. "So, which ones do you already own? I'm guessing you live close by, too- sorry, was that weird?"

He pauses, looking up from the comic. It's actually pretty good. Gerard would like it. "Yeah, I live near here," he says, "Just a couple streets over."

Frank is staring past him, out the big windows that line the front of the shop. "Hey," he adds, "How long did you say you were planning to stay?"

"I didn't," Mikey answers, confused, turning around to see what he's staring at.

Oh. It's pouring rain.

"You came here on a bike, didn'tcha?" 

Is he stuck here now? Stuck with a really cute boy that basically just saw him freak out? Oh, heck. 

"Yeah."

Frank hops back up on the counter and shrugs. "It's not so bad. I barely ever get customers, so I've been going crazy without anyone to talk to. 'specially someone who actually wants to talk about comics." Mikey looks up at him, and the boy blushes slightly. "Just saying. I'm not gonna kick ya out or anything."

Well, that's a relief. Imagine biking home, soaking wet, all the people in their nice dry cars looking at him and snickering behind their palms ("Poor boy, didn't expect this weather, did he?"). Heck.

"That's good," Mikey says, smiling, "Would be kinda shit of you to toss me out."

"Yeah, right?" Frank laughs. He nods at the comic Mikey's still holding. "How's that so far?"

Mikey looks down at the comic. "Surprisingly good, actually," he answers, completely truthful. He wasn't expecting to like it, for some reason.

"What," says Frank, insulted in a joking way, "You doubt my taste in comics?" He tugs at the bottom of his Pokemon shirt. That fucking shirt. Mikey doesn't know why he's so focused on it.

"Well," Mikey shrugs. "A little bit? I mean, you're wearing a Pokemon shirt-"

As soon as he says that, Frank squints at him and struggles to hold back laughter. "Just my luck. The one day I wear this stupid shirt, _that's_ the day I get a fuckin' customer." He shakes his head. "Look, I was out of clean clothes. And, uh... it might be from the boys' section at Walmart. But-"

He was right!

"I wasn't even s'posed to be at work today," Frank continues, mostly to himself by now, "But Pete said he had urgent plans, and couldn't come in, and course it's _me_  who has to come in, godfuckin'-" He squints at Mikey again. "Too many coincidences."

"Huh?"

Coincidences? What's he on about now?

"Nothing. Never mind." Frank's eyebrows pull together and he scratches the side of his nose, the ring in it catching the light and flashing silver. "I'm a bit of a superstitious person, right? Too many things coincided today. I wasn't s'posed to go to work, you weren't..."

He says 'supposed' in a funny way. It's a little cute, actually.

Mikey's never sat down with himself and decided his sexuality. He's had throwaway crushes on boys before, and of course that one time with Alicia, but there hasn't really ever been anything where he's gone- 'This is it, I'm attracted to that person'. He was convinced he was asexual for a good two years, actually.

But- all things aside- Frank is really fucking cute.

"You're staring," Frank says, brushing his hair back from his face. Is he blushing? Is Frank fucking blushing? The pink tinge suits his face really fucking well. Ah, heck, Mikey's real screwed.

"Sorry," Mikey responds quickly, averting his eyes to the floor. Frank giggles.

"No, it's okay," he assures him, "I do that too. Get lost in my thoughts and then realize I've been staring at someone, right?"

"Yeah," Mikey agrees, grateful for a normal explanation, not wanting to say that the reason he'd been staring is that Frank is really cute. Heck. What would Frank say if Mikey blurted that out right now? Would he say he thought Mikey was cute too- no, c'mon, don't get too carried away. 

"You should buy that comic," Frank says suddenly, pointing at the one in Mikey's hand. "And all of the ones I showed you." He grins. "Or don't. But it's better if you do."

"I only have a twenty," Mikey bites his lip. "Otherwise, I would. How much is this one?"

Frank looks at it. "Uh... that one's 3.99, I think. Most of them are. Here, I'll pick out some more for you." He rummages through the pile and sorts four more out. "These are all pretty damn good," he explains, nodding to himself. "And that would be twenty all together."

Mikey examines the comics. "Tax," he reminds Frank, and the boy purses his lips.

"Nah, I'll give you a discount cause you're the first person to actually talk to me in this stupid shop, and you're pretty cute on top of that. So it's a neat twenty."

Wait- did he just- did he just say Mikey's cute? did he-

He did. Holy shit, he did.

"You're blushing," Frank points out, smiling, "Was it something I said?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

The rain's still going strong, but Mikey doesn't feel like calling Gerard to pick him up.

Frank is perched on the back counter, legs hanging off the edge, a comic in his lap that he's not paying attention to. Mikey sits on the _front_ counter, facing him, his pile of newly-bought comics beside him.

"So," prompts Frank, "Tell me about yourself?"

What's there to say? Hi, name's Mikey, I have crippling anxiety and agoraphobia, and I grew up in an abusive home. Is that a good way to introduce yourself? Will it make Frank run for the hills (or, rather, just kick Mikey out of the store)?

"Uh, I'm Mikey," Mikey says stupidly, and Frank giggles.

"No shit, dude. But like, got any siblings? Whaddya like to do?"

Mikey leans forward, hands on his thighs, eyes sparkling. "Is this an interrogation?"

The corner of Frank's mouth flicks up. "You betcha," he answers, "Now c'mon."

"Alright. Uh, I'm Mikey, I'm 20, I've got an older brother named Gerard. He's a fucking nerd. I like comics- um, obviously-" He's blushing. Shoot. "And hockey."

"Hockey?" Frank pulls his legs up and crosses then. "Seriously? You don't seem like the type."

Here we go again. "Nah," Mikey shrugs, "I'm kind of obsessed with it? I guess?" He brushes his hand against his cheek- it's warm. Heck. "I mean, not like _obsessed_ as in I know everything about it, but I watch a lot of games. It's a good sport, basically, I get pretty into it."

Frank is staring at him, but in a good way, if that makes sense. He's half-smiling with his mouth open a little bit, and it's way too fucking cute. "Sorry," he says suddenly, and shakes his head, "Was I staring?"

"Yeah," Mikey smiles back, covering his mouth with his hand. Frank brushes his hair away from his face and chuckles nervously. "So, uh, your turn, tell me about yourself?"

"This feels like a date," Frank confesses, turning red, "I mean- like- as in, uh, how we're interrogating each other?" He buries his head in his hands and laughs helplessly.

"You know," Mikey muses, "Don't know what quite tipped me off, but I'm gonna go ahead and say you're, uh, you're gay?"

Frank straightens his back and one hand goes up to toy with his hair, hesitating. "Yeah. I mean, that doesn't weird you out or anything, right? It's just a thing. And you gotta, y'know, fuckin' deal with it." He looks unnecessarily defensive, but Mikey supposes it's justified. Just in case, y'know, Mikey happens to be homophobic. But he's not. He couldn't ever be. He grew up in a house of hate, he can't spread any more.

"Nah, man," Mikey tells him, and Frank visibly sags with relief, "I'm chill with it. I, uh, I dunno wha' the hell I am, but it's cool you got that all fig'red out."

"Dunno what you are, huh?" Fran hops off the counter. "Feel like playing around with that?"

Is he suggesting what Mikey thinks he is? Cause if so- he can't quite believe he's saying this- but yeah, Mikey's totally up for it. Huh. "Yeah," he says, smiling, standing up too, "Why not?"

Frank looks delighted and steps closer, till his feet are nearly on top of Mikey's, his breath tickling Mikey's cheeks. He's short, and it's actually kind of funny. Mikey slumps his shoulders and lets his back curve slightly so that Frank can reach him. "You're kinda tall," Frank comments, and laughs, "That's a good thing though, I've always had a thing for boys taller than me."

And with that, he rises on his tiptoes and presses his lips to Mikey's.

Anyway, Mikey's never been kissed before, as mentioned earlier. So he's not quite sure how to do this. Well, he's got the idea of it, he's got the basic premise down, but apparently there's a bunch of things that he didn't even _know_ about. Like, you gotta turn your head slightly, which he didn't know at all, so their noses bump at first. Then Frank's hand comes up to touch his chin and tilt his head lightly, so they fix that problem. Second, you gotta actually _move_ your lips, but that one he figures out pretty quickly. And then, holy shit, he's actually kissing someone for the first time in his life. It's a pretty damn good kiss, too, even though they bump noses and teeth. Frank's hands are on his jacket, pulling him down slightly, while Mikey's dangle at his sides awkwardly (what the hell are you supposed to do with them?). All of a sudden Frank pulls away, presumably to take a breath.

"Was that your first kiss?" he asks knowingly, grinning.

"Yeah," Mikey admits, blushing, "Sorry-"

Frank giggles. "Nah, don't worry about it. It's cute, actually. I've never been someone's first kiss. Huh. How do you feel?"

"Bit impatient, actually," Mikey says, and Frank looks confused.

"Why?"

"How long do I have to wait for you to kiss me again?"

For a split-second, his heart goes into double time and he's struck with paralyzing fear that Frank's gonna look at him, grossed out, and reject his ass right there. But then Frank's kissing him again, and he's not worried at all, no sir.

"Here," Frank mumbles, moving back just a slight bit. "One sec." He wiggles onto the front counter and pulls Mikey closer by the front of his jacket. "That better?" The counter's tall enough that he can now kiss Mikey comfortably, without Mikey having to lean down.

"Yeah," Mikey answers breathlessly, and kisses him again. He's enjoying this, actually. Kissing is really fucking fun, why didn't he do it earlier?

Oh, right, cause he didn't want to leave the fuckin' house. He can hear Gerard's voice in his head now- _See, Mikey? Good things happen when you go outside!_ But thinking about your brother is kinda gross when you're making out with a boy, so he drops that thought pretty quickly.

Cause yeah, they're making out now, and Frank's hands are in his _hair_ now, huh, that's new, but he likes the feeling of Frank tugging gently, strangely enough.

Again Frank pulls back, but only because there's the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot. "Fuck," he says under his breath, turning bright red. "Two customers in one day? What're the odds?"

Mikey grins at him. "Gonna make out with them too?" Frank squints at him. "I bet you do that with all your customers," he continues, laughing slightly, "Wouldn't be a surprise, actually."

"Are you calling me a whore?" Frank pretends to be insulted, but laughter overtakes him.

"It wouldn't be that far from the truth," Mikey starts, then shuts up when the bell hanging on the front door jangles suddenly. He twists around to see who could possibly be coming in here _now_.

It's Gerard. Oh, fucking boy.

"Mikey, hey," Gerard says, surprised. Well, who wouldn't be? He's behind the counter, Frank's _way_ too close to him, blushes on their face, and Mikey's hair is all messed up. "Um, having a good time?"

"Gerard," Mikey covers his mouth. "Um, Frank, this is my brother." He giggles awkwardly. "The one I was telling you about?" He brushes his hair back. "Uh, fuck."

Gerard looks at the two of them, pauses, then bursts out laughing. "Hey, I just showed up cause you weren't answering your phone and I got worried. Guess I've got no reason to be, huh?"

Confused, Mikey pulls the phone out of his pocket. It's on silent, as usual. Three missed calls from Gerard. "Oops," he says, grinning helplessly. Must've called when he and Frank were, um, making out.

He still can't quite wrap his head around that. He just made out with someone. With a _boy_. And he _liked it_.

Frank butts it just then, thank god. "I'm Frank," he says, "The only person who actually fuckin' works at this shop." He grins at Gerard. "Nice to meet ya, man. I think I just corrupted your little brother, so just warnin' ya, if he starts acting weird? Not his fault. I fully take the blame."

"Goddammit," Gerard groans, "What did you guys do? Scratch that, I don't want to know." He looks at Mikey and grins. "But man, talk about unexpected, amirite? The one time you actually go out of the house."

Frank's looking at Mikey curiously now, and every little thing is getting on Mikey's nerves, and he's about to fucking scream if Gerard doesn't shut up in the next ten seconds.

"Right," he says, and forces a smile. "Anyway, do you have an actual reason to be here? Other than like, parental worrying?"

"Nah," Gerard says. "I can drive you home now if you want though, it's fuckin' pouring out there." He runs a hand through his hair to prove a point, and water splashes to the floor.

Mikey and Frank make eye contact momentarily, Mikey wondering whether he should stay, and Frank kicks him lightly. "Nah," Mikey decides, and Frank beams. "Mind coming back later?"

Gerard grins at them. "Yeah. Call me when you need me to come back." He glances around the shop approvingly, then turns, hand on the door. "Oh, and Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"Use protection."

Gerard darts out the door before Mikey can chase him. Fucker.

"So that's your brother?" Frank asks, pulling Mikey's attention back.

"Yep," Mikey sighs. "Sorry about him. He's just really excited, cause I haven't left the house in two weeks."

Wait, he probably shouldn't have said that. Now Frank is going to think he's fucking weird, like he's a hermit or something. Well, then again, Mikey practically is. God. Frank is going to think he's a lazy ass who never leaves his house cause his ass is planted in front of the TV. Oh fuck. No, no, that's not what he meant at all. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Huh," Frank says. "Wish I could do that. Why didn't you?"

He looks simply curious, not disgusted or anything like that. "I, um, I have mild agoraphobia," Mikey mumbles. He's never actually admitted it out loud before, and saying the words takes a weight off of his chest. That's probably just the anxiety though.

"I mean, I wouldn't call not going outside for two weeks _mild_ ," Frank tells him, then giggles to show it's a joke. 

Heck. "Well, before that it was three months," Mikey admits, and smiles cautiously.

"Wait, seriously? What do you _do_ all day? I'd be bored outta my skull," Frank says seriously, and Mikey's glad to see that at least he's not turned off at all. He's legitimately _interested_ in this.

"Play bass, usually," Mikey shrugs, "Read comics. Sometimes I watch hockey. But rarely, cause the TV uses electricity and we don't have a lot of money for the electric bill." He looks down. Shouldn't have mentioned the whole money problem. Now Frank's gonna ask him why he doesn't work, cause wouldn't that get them more money?

Thing is, when Gerard and Mikey first moved out here, Mikey stood his ground and insisted to Gerard that he _needed_ a job to prove he was an adult. Gerard finally gave in and Mikey applied for the nearest pizza place. Well, long story short, he showed up the first day, threw up, and promptly quit, shaking uncontrollably the entire time. No amount of anti-anxiety pills helped him that day; only sitting on the couch with a blanket and a hot cup of tea, crying and admitting he was entirely useless in all respects. 

Looking back, not much has changed. He's still an anxious money-sucking waste of space, if he's being perfectly honest with himself.

"You could work here," Frank suggests. Mikey immediately looks up with scared eyes. "No, I mean, you don't have to. But it's close by, we rarely ever get customers, and... _I'm_ here." He waggles his eyebrows at the last words, and grins when Mikey starts to laugh. "Like, I get the whole not-being-able-to-leave-your-house thing, but..." He shrugs. "I dunno. You should think about it."

Mikey's surprised to find that the idea actually appeals to him. He briefly worries that it'll make Frank get tired of him quicker, but Frank is the one who suggested it, so... "Yeah," he says. "I'll think about it."

"Cool! I'll ask Ray. He's the owner of the store. Rarely comes in, though, I think he's kind of moved on from comics. You'd like him- he plays guitar, and he's got _wicked_ hair." Frank laughs at himself and the excitement in his voice. "Oh, and then there's Pete, but he's an asshole. It's kind of funny actually. He's got the whole emo boy look down pat. Like, eyeliner, shitty fringe, skinny jeans? That's him to a T."

"You're one to talk," Mikey remarks. They're both wearing skinny jeans, and Frank's black hair constantly falls in his face. 

"Shut up," Frank retorts quickly, laughing.

Mikey's not sure where his next words come from, but for some reason he goes: "Make me, then," and Frank's face lights up. 

He's still sitting on the counter, so he leans forward and drags Mikey closer by the front of his jacket, jamming their lips together. God. Mikey's still not going to get over just how fucking _good_  Frank is at kissing. It's extraordinary. And he's still faintly in shock that it's actually happening.

Maybe he _will_  take the job here.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, tell me about that boy," Gerard says the second he's picked Mikey up from the store. "Frank, was it?"

"Fuck off," Mikey responds, crossing his arms, "No way in hell am I letting you get tangled up in this." He's half-laughing as he says it, and his heart is still fluttering from the memory of Frank's lips on his, and Gerard grins at him. "And keep your eyes on the road, fucker, last thing we need is a fuckin' crash."

Gerard looks away but his smile doesn't fade. "I'm gonna be honest, that kid was cute. You've got good taste."

That would be a fine compliment if it had come from literally anyone else, but when it's your own brother saying it, things get slightly weird. Mikey makes a grossed-out face and fake-gags. "Gross, Gee. Get your own."

"But really," Gerard continues on, ignoring him, "I didn't know you were gay? Obviously I've got no problem with it, but- it's all sorta unexpected, Mikes." 

Oh, right. Mikey's forgotten that he never actually, officially, came out, but hey. At least Gerard's reacting positively. He wonders briefly what his parents would've said if they knew, and almost laughs out loud. His dad would've spoken pretty damn clearly with his fists. "Am I? Maybe I'm bisexual, you dunno. I dunno either though, so your guess is as good as mine."

"Well, it's not like it's that hard. You ever wanted to fuck a girl?"

"Gross," Mikey responds immediately. "I mean, the fact that I'm talking about this with you. You're my brother; that shit's weird."

Gerard conceded that point with a slight nod of his head. "Fair point. Can we swing by the store? I think we're out of milk."

Milk? Crap, that's Mikey's fault definitely. He has an affinity for cereal at literally any time of the day, and he uses ample amounts of milk when eating. Fuck. This is all entirely his fault, and who even knows if they have enough money for milk? Or _gas_? He should've made Gerard let him bike home, never mind the pouring rain.

"Mikey? Are you gonna have a panic attack? Cause I didn't bring your pills, and to be honest I don't think you remembered to either-"

Pills, that was another thing that they spend too much money on, all because of Mikey. If he could just, in the words of his father, man up and just stop being scared of everything, they wouldn't have to drop so much money just to calm his whiny ass down. "Pills?" Mikey echoes. "I don't need pills anymore, Gee."

Gerard throws him a sidelong glance. "You have severe anxiety and agoraphobia. I think you need pills."

Ouch. Mikey knows already there's something extremely wrong with him; there's no need to rub it in. Gerard quickly backpedals though, and at least he knows how to apologize. 

"But seriously," Mikey explains as Gerard searches for a parking spot at the grocery store. "I don't need the pills. They're just a waste of money, and I can function alright without them." He knows Gerard is nowhere near believing him. "I promise."

"...Right." There's still a skeptical look on Gerard's face. "We'll see. C'mon, out of the car." He parks the car and jumps out, waiting for Mikey.

So maybe Mikey did lie. Maybe he's not ready to go off his pills yet. But- he's a big boy, he's an adult, he can go into a fucking grocery store and not freak out. He unclips his seat belt and scrambles out of the car, offering Gerard a shaky smile. "Let's go," he says, praying his voice won't quaver, and it doesn't.

-

When they get home later that evening, they may only have bought- what, a maximum of two bags maybe- but Mikey is sweating bullets. They didn't need that much. Why did they buy that much? He thought they only needed milk. Instead, they've bought milk, eggs, a fucking bag of potatoes, _and_ a bag of rice. It's all self-indulgent! They don't need _that_ much! 

"Mikey," Gerard says, and the concern on his face is evident. "I promise we have enough money for all of this."

"No we don't," Mikey answers, and now his breaths are staccato'd. "I spent twenty in the comic shop, and we spent around twenty here, and that's forty whole dollars wasted because of _me_ , and we're not gonna have enough for rent and we're gonna be kicked out and have to live on the streets just like before and this time Mom and Dad won't save us-"

He's crying, hyperventilating, and Gerard is staring at him, completely bewildered.

"We spent less than ten dollars on groceries," he says quietly, "And I've got nearly a hundred put away in the bank, I've been saving up. Mikey, I have a good job. You don't have to worry about getting kicked out." He hugs Mikey carefully, and Mikey sobs, fearful, into his chest.

"I'm sorry," Mikey says between gulps of air, "I'm just overreacting, it's stupid."

Gerard stops him. "You're not overreacting. Any rational person would want to be careful with money. It's a really good skill to have, Mikes. I do think you're trying to be a bit _too_ frugal, cause we've got enough money to spare a little now."

"How?" Mikey asks, "Last month we barely had enough for a bag of rice."

"I got a bonus at work, simple," Gerard answers, "Just last week."

Mikey's tear-stained face breaks into a smile. "Gee," he says, "I'm so proud of you!"

Gerard is blushing slightly, but Mikey's legitimately happy for him. He wipes the stupid tears off his face and beams. "Thanks, Mikes," Gerard says, smiling back at him. "Are you okay now?"

Feeling slightly stupid over his previous outburst, Mikey nods. "I'm good. Can I go take a shower or do you need help with dinner? I'm sweaty as hell-"

"Course." Gerard waves him off. It was a silly question anyway. Gerard guards the kitchen with his life and refuses to let anyone else enter, especially Mikey. "Go shower. You smell."

"Fuck off." 

After a quick check, though, it's pretty clear that he does smell, at least a little bit. Goddammit.

Mikey locks himself in the bathroom and strips, examining his naked body in the mirror. As always, all he sees are imperfections. He's always been fairly skinny, and now he realizes with a shock that he can count practically every one of his ribs. And the way his collarbones stick out makes him look strangely alien, along with his non-existent cheeks. Mikey brushes his hair back and pulls his glasses off, setting them down on the counter. That's better. Now his form is more blurry, not quite clear, the flaws not as defined. 

He wonders what Frank saw in him as he turns on the water and steps in. It's not quite warm because he knows hot water costs more, but he doesn't flinch as it pours over his (prominent) spine and (nonexistent) ass. Was Frank simply bored out of his skull and decided that, well, he'd seen worse than Mikey, why not? Does he actually _like_ Mikey? He invited him to work there, so obviously he can't hate him- but maybe he only wants Mikey to work there so he can, like, torment him or something.

Leaning back against the shower wall, Mikey groans. This is confusing. Boys are confusing.

He doesn't quite mean to, but thinking about Frank leads him back to the memory of the kiss, and Mikey finds his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking gently, aroused despite the cool water. He remembers the feel of Frank's lips on his, the way he pulled Mikey forward by his jacket, how his fingers tangled in Mikey's hair. He shudders, his breaths slightly more ragged. His thoughts move to imagining Frank's hand being the one on his cock, jerking him off, and that's what pushes him over the edge. He spills with a soft moan, hoping he wasn't being loud.

The water's grown much colder now, and he barely has enough time to shampoo and wash his hair before the temperature becomes unbearable. Mikey turns the water off and hops out, pulling a towel off the rack. He pauses and glances at himself in the mirror again. Still the same old alien boy.

What the hell did Frank see in him?

He wraps the towel around him and pushes the thought out of his head, exiting the bathroom.

"Took ya long enough," Gerard calls from the kitchen when he hears the door open. "Didja use up all the warm water?"

"Kind of," Mikey yells back, "Sorry!"

He ducks into the only bedroom in the apartment. It's fairly simple. Two beds, one on each side, a dresser in the middle (left half for Gerard, right half for Mikey). They don't have a lot of clothes anyway, and they're both not very tall so big beds aren't a necessity. He flicks on the light and locks the door, dropping the towel on the ground to do a brief naked walk to the dresser.

Really, the amount of clothes in the three drawers belonging to him is just... pitiful. There's maybe five shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pair of cargo shorts, and then a couple pairs of socks and underwear. The drawers look like they're growing cobwebs in the corners. He pulls out boxers and wiggles into them, throwing a plain black shirt over top. Neither of the brothers really care about pants. As long as all privates are covered, you're good to go.

"Dinner!" comes Gerard's voice, and Mikey picks up his fallen towel and carries it out with him, tossing it in the hamper as he walks by. "I made hard-boiled eggs. Do you want two or three?" He pauses. "I'm giving you three. You're too skinny."

"Sure, _mom_ ," Mikey mocks.

It's always funny in a demented way whenever they pretend to act like a functional family. Even jokes like Mikey's- as if his mom would ever say that. He would've been lucky if she was sober enough to even hear what he was saying, back then when they were children. This is all shit he and Gerard have picked up from TV shows, from friends, from _normal_ people. Mikey still aches for a normal childhood sometimes, even though he knows it's stupid.

"I'm serious," Gerard insists, adding buttered toast to Mikey's plate. "Can you count all your ribs yet?" He shakes his head. "It's ridiculous. I need to start feeding you better."

"I can, actually," Mikey shrugs, taking a bite of toast. "If me being skinny saves us money, what's the big deal?"

Gerard frowns at him. "If you being skinny leads to you dying of malnutrition, _that_ will be a big deal."

"Gerard, please. You're overreacting-"

"Eating less also leads to a shitty immune system, leading to you getting sick. And no matter how much money I can put away, it won't ever be enough for hospital bills in this shitty country, what with our lack of insurance. So _eat_ , and stop skipping meals to save money, because we've got enough, at least to eat well. But we don't have enough money to support you fucking starving to death." He holds his gaze for a second longer to let the point sink in, then looks away to get himself food.

Mikey looks down, eating more meekly now. He feels shame burning the tips of his ears, where he's certainly blushing. He's been so obsessed with doing everything to save money that he hasn't thought about how he might be creating even more problems. "Sorry, Gee," he says quietly, and Gerard sighs deeply.

"It's alright. I guess I sounded too harsh." He sits down next to Mikey with an identical plate, only he has a cup of coffee beside him. 

The younger boy points to the cup. "Staying up tonight?"

Gerard shrugs. "I might as well. There's a couple things my boss asked me to finish, and they're taking me a while."

"Huh." They lapse into silence as they eat. It's good food, honestly, as simple as it is, and Mikey appreciates it. It's filling, if anything. He decides to go on the lookout for cookbooks, and pick one up for Gerard if he finds one. He'd be ecstatic.

When he finally finishes his food, Mikey looks up to see Gerard staring at him. "Are you gonna go back to your boyfriend tomorrow?" Gerard asks, grinning.

"Oh my fucking god, shut _up_."

However, Gerard's got a point.

 


End file.
